


From Kingdom to Kingdom

by heartofspells



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 04:12:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofspells/pseuds/heartofspells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus builds up barriers to keep the pain out, but sometimes those barriers crack and yield. When they break completely, he’s not sure if he’ll survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Kingdom to Kingdom

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Black Circle DJ](http://black-circle-dj.livejournal.com) fest.
> 
> Thanks to [acidbathory](http://archiveofourown.org/users/acidbathory/pseuds/acidbathory) for the wonderful beta job!

Remus watches him. He watches the eyes he’s known since he was a boy. He knew them so very well, once. He likes to lie and tell himself that he still does. 

They used to sparkle, those eyes, and shine so very brightly. Remus remembers four boys trekking through a dark castle, too long ago and too many nights to count, avoiding professors and running from red-eyed demon cats. The grander adventures still stand out plainly in his mind, but the smaller details are more difficult to recall. The one thing that will always stand out with vivid recollection are those gleaming eyes set into a mischievously grinning face.

Remus remembers four boys trekking through a magic castle, and as those boys grew older, he remembers two splitting away from the group more and more frequently, shrouding themselves in darkness hidden away in cupboards, locked together between the dustier shelves in the library, learning details about one another that they’d never known before. Slow and timid their lips and hands started out until they became more bold, learned one another better, discovered pleasure points and weak spots. Teeth and tongues and nails were added in, and eventually they knew one another so well that they fell, always to each other. 

Remus dreams about those eyes now. He can’t remember a time when they didn’t shine, didn’t sparkle. But for that other boy, they were always different. Softer, somehow; more open; less playful and more pure. Always just for that boy, the quiet one, the thoughtful one. 

They’re different now. Sirius is different. His grey eyes aren’t bright anymore, but dark, shadowed by thick lashes. His face is no longer mischievous, just steely and secretive. It breaks Remus’ heart, but he’ll never admit to such a thing because while Sirius is silent and guarded, Remus is stoic and observant. He sees things others don’t, hears things people never say. He sees Sirius in a way no one else does and that breaks his heart more than anything else because he _knows_.

\--------------------------------------

Footsteps sound from down the hall and Remus’ eyes stop on the last word he’s read. He waits. He doesn’t look up, there’s isn’t any need. The footsteps say enough to please two senses at once. They’re slow, determinedly so, almost as though the body attached to them is deliberately trying to seem casual in its progress. There’s the slightest of agitated falters every two steps that give it away, however. They want out; there’s nothing left for it.

Remus sees Sirius pass by the living room door from the corner of his eye. He still doesn’t look up. There really isn’t any point. He tries to focus on the word in front of him, but it blurs before his eyes. He blinks. It doesn’t help. 

The steps pause for a handful of seconds and Remus can feel the shift of thought process in the air. Instead of thinking about escaping, Sirius is considering his options. The pause ends by a scuffling sound, as though the feet can’t decide which way they want to go. After a brief moment of indecision, the hollow sound of steps advance closer, stopping in the entrance to the living room. Remus sees Sirius’ tall form from the corner of his eye, but still does not look up.

Sirius clears his throat and Remus slowly raises his eyes from the book, as though he is too engrossed in his reading to be bothered. He stares at Sirius, waiting, and Sirius stares back, the protrusion on his throat bobbing as he swallows continuously, almost nervously.

Remus takes the rare opportunity to study Sirius. The man is haggard, rough and worn around the edges. The skin beneath his eyes is dark and shadowed, while his actual eyes are tired and hollow. The black hair that Sirius had once prided himself in is too long and hangs limply around his unshaven face. 

His clothes are rumpled and more than a bit stale, and Remus wonders how long it’s been since they’ve had a proper wash. If the situation was any different, Remus would ask Sirius what his problems are, what is bothering him; Remus would help him. He doesn’t, though. He never offers because the situation isn’t anything different. It’s hell, served on a rubbish bin lid with a side of mangy old boot.

Sirius clears his throat again and looks over Remus’ shoulder, not meeting his eyes. He opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again, saying, “I suppose…I’m heading out again.” His eyes flick up to meet Remus’ briefly before darting away.

Remus merely hums in response, choosing no other form of reply. Sirius is making an effort, which is odd and more than a bit disconcerting. He supposes that in itself should tell him something, but is doesn’t.

“I’ll um…I might see you when I get back,” Sirius mumbles. Remus doesn’t reply and Sirius deflates the smallest bit. He swallows and asks, “When do you leave again?”

Remus shrugs and watches as Sirius’ eyes follow his moving shoulder. “Dumbledore just said to wait for word.”

Sirius waits for Remus to say more. When Remus doesn’t, Sirius nods and begins to back away from the door. “I’ll…see you, then,” he mutters before he disappears from view.

Remus listens to his footsteps fade away down the hall toward the front door. He hears the latch click as Sirius turns the handle and his mouth opens before he can stop it. “Sirius!”

The handle is released and the feet retrace their path up the hall until Sirius pops his head around the door frame, his eyes filling with guarded hope as they meet Remus’ and don’t look away. Remus’ heart is suddenly pounding with panic and his head is filling with all the things he should say, wants to say. _Be careful. Watch out for yourself. Don’t do anything rash or stupid, please. Come to me if you need help. I love you. I love you so very much._

Sirius is still staring at him and Remus swallows. “Lock up behind yourself,” he whispers.

The hope in Sirius’ eyes fades and turns to sadness before they harden. He gives Remus a short nod before his head disappears from sight once again. A moment later, the door shuts quietly behind him as Sirius leaves. Remus closes his eyes and thinks that the absence of anger or sound hurts worse than anything else.

He opens his eyes after a long time and glances back down at the forgotten book in his hands. He finds the word he stopped on and finally manages to focus on it. As his eyes glide over the letters, he slams the cover of the book closed and tosses it away. The word is _betrayal_.

Two days later, in the middle of the night, the Floo roars to life, Dumbledore’s somber face hovering amongst the green flames. Remus collapses to his knees and thinks he should have known, should have realised.

Betrayal, he finds, has never been so true.

\--------------------------------------

When Remus first met Sirius Black, he thought the boy mad. As it turned out, he’d never been so right. Sirius was the most insane person Remus had ever or would ever meet, but brilliantly so, and possessed the ability to turn everyone around him just as mad.

Remus still feels that madness at times, though he tries to fight it away. He’s an adult now and there’s no room in his life for insanity. There’s enough of that for him twelve nights of the year. He ignores it for numerous reasons, most not so obvious but one he prefers not to think of unless it simply can’t be helped.

There are moments, however, when the itch becomes too strong, frustration and mischief building deep inside his stomach. His fingers twitch, his muscles spasm from restraint, and his mind buzzes, all for the need to cause the smallest bit of destruction, the slightest amount of mayhem. It’s like a dragon clawing its way out of his chest and he just has to _do something_.

When that happens, Remus finds himself at the old flat Sirius and he had shared, most times without any recollection of how he’d got there. Sirius still technically owns the place, only because Remus never had the heart to sell it. He ignores the reason for that as well. Remus ignores a great many things now.

His pattern remains the same most times. He’ll wander through the familiar rooms, blocking the memories that flood his mind for every one of them. His circle always ends at the bedroom. He’ll stand in the doorway and stare at Sirius’ side of the bed for a long moment before he allows the dam in his mind to bend the smallest amount. 

He’ll remember the last handful of months they were together, all the stilted words and guarded expressions. He’ll find himself beside the bed before he realises he’s moved, fingers curved into claws as he rips at the mattress and Sirius’ pillow, shredding the material with enough effort and scattering stuffing and feathers across every surface. Remus will move around the room, barely conscious of what he’s doing as he smashes framed photographs, flings drawers full of clothing, kicks at the walls, creating hole after hole as memories pour through his mind. He sees Dumbledore’s face floating in his fireplace and his fist punches through drywall. 

His feet will move him to the wardrobe of their own accord and he’ll stand and stare for a long while. One side is completely empty, an even line dividing down the centre, and it feels like there are nails scratching across his heart. Remus hates it. More memories flash and his hands fly at the clothing, tossing it to the floor, stomping on previously precious leather, tearing at once loved trousers, shredding favoured robes as news article after news article screams their words inside his head, words and images that had followed him for weeks and haunted him for years. 

When he is finished and his anger has abated, Remus will sink to the floor and sit among the mess he has created. His lungs burn as he pants for breath and his eyes sting behind his lids. He’s holding himself together by the smallest bit of strength and he would give anything – _anything_ – to just let go and be finished with it, but he doesn’t. He never will. Instead, he gathers back his wits and repairs the damage he has caused. He then Apparates home, but only after he leaves a Marauderly gift for the owner of the building who still checks in on the flat every month.

He always goes home and sprawls out across his bed, staring at the dark ceiling until he either passes out from exhaustion, or it is light enough outside to begin his day. He tidies his small flat, washes up and dresses, and then heads out on another endless job search. This is Remus’ routine. Some people would call it mundane and pointless, say he has no life. Remus calls it surviving.

Remus goes to the shops whenever he can afford it, and becomes truly desperate. He loves the shops, and would go every week, every day, if he could. He doesn’t, though, only because he sees things he wants or needs and doesn’t have any money for and it depresses him. Remus avoids the little shops. His heart aches when he doesn’t.

Today, however, he must go. The only things in his cupboards are a few slices of bread and a rat trap which does absolutely no good. So Remus gathers his things and Apparates to an alley near the closest market. He gets what he needs and does not browse; he knows what will happen if he does. Remus will either see something he cannot afford, or find something that will bring back memories better left buried. There are times when Remus thinks his visits to the shops are the most painful part of his life.

Remus pays for his items and quickly returns to the small alley. He vanishes his purchases back to his flat before he Apparates into Diagon Alley. There’s a small second-hand book shop at the far end which is his destination. A few years back, Remus worked out a deal with the elderly owner. Remus would come in for a couple hours a week and help the man sort, stock, and catalogue. In return, the owner allowed Remus to borrow whatever books he chose to read.

Remus has barely entered the shop before he is forced to freeze and all the air leaves his lungs. Sirius’ sunken, screaming face is staring back at him. Remus cannot breathe and he feels lightheaded. He’s unsure of what to do as he stands frozen to the spot. He contemplates leaving.

“Mad, that one,” a voice says from behind him. Remus jumps and flails, nearly toppling the news rack over on its side. “Careful!” Mr. Salins warns sharply as he grabs at the sleeve of Remus’ shirt. “Sorry, boy. Didn’t mean to give you a fright. Truth be told, that man scares me all the way down to my little toe. Insane, he is. Insane and unpredictable.”

“Always has been,” Remus murmurs without thinking, still gazing at the moving photo.

Mr. Salins provides him with an odd look, but doesn’t ask. “So, Remus, searching for anything particular today?”

Remus turns away from the newspapers. He can tell by the look in Old Mr. Salins’ eyes that the man is trying to distract him. Remus is grateful, but it doesn’t work. Nothing can ever distract him from Sirius Black.

“Not really,” he answers. “Just thought I’d browse. Waste a bit of time.”

Mr. Salins nods and pats Remus’ shoulder. “Well, if you need anything, just ask.” He pauses for a moment and his mouth quirks up in the corners. “Though really, sometimes I suspect you know this old shop better than I do.”

Remus forces a smile and Mr. Salins trots off to continue doing whatever it is he does by himself in the shop. Remus turns down the nearest aisle and begins running his fingers along the books’ spines, not really looking at anything, too lost in thought.

He wonders if Sirius feels remorse for killing all those people. It’s doubtful, but that never stops Remus’ curiosity. And James and Lily? Is he sorry about what he did to them? Remus had always thought Sirius loved nothing and no one more than the Potters, not even Remus. Had he always actually hated them instead?

When Remus was a child, fresh from the survival of a werewolf bite and suffering his first experiences with the wizarding world’s ghastly opinions on dark creatures, his mother had told him there was a fine line between love and hate. Remus had never understood that until he went to Hogwarts and met his friends; met Sirius. The boy had been raised to hate everything and everyone that was different. But he had loved Remus, loved him before he knew what love really was. Or so he had claimed. Was that what had happened with the Potters? Had Sirius loved them so much that it had festered and turned to hate?

Remus pauses at a haphazardly stacked pile of romance novels, the images on the covers barely shy of being pornographic, and he stares, mind lost elsewhere. 

There have been times in the past when Remus would have given anything to have been able to talk to Sirius one last time. There still is, but he avoids thinking about that most times too. He just wants to ask Sirius why he did what he did. He wants to know about all of it, but mainly what Remus’ own role was in the entire thing. Why had Sirius feigned love if his main goal had been the Potters and Peter? None of it makes any sense to Remus.

Remus has formulated so many different scenarios in his mind over the years that he has lost track of most of them. He wonders if their relationship was simply a ploy to make Sirius more convincible to everyone else, but that idea is more absurd than it is rational. He also wonders if Sirius had only used Remus as a way to pass the time and entertain himself, Remus having been nothing more than a comparative plaything in the other man’s eyes. Or had Sirius intended Remus as his next victim, but had been caught before he was able to finish what he had started?

Remus shakes his head to clear it of such dark and altogether inane musings, picking up one of the novels and flipping through it, just for amusement. As he does so and the soothing smell of the old pages fills his nose, a previously blocked thought floods his mind. What if Sirius hadn’t come after Remus because he had, inadvertently, developed feelings for Remus after all? 

Suddenly, Remus is finding it difficult to breathe again, like he is trapped in a cupboard three sizes too small with no room to even move. He feels as though the entire shop is pressing and closing in around him, squeezing the life from his very veins. The books mock him silently as he stands, paralysed, his chest aching, whether from lack of oxygen or lack of any type of emotion for too long he doesn’t know.

He places the book back where he found it and leaves the shop quickly, taking nothing with him for the first time in years. When he arrives home, there is a Hogwarts owl waiting for him, and an offer that he can’t find the strength to refuse.

\--------------------------------------

Grimmauld Place is a dank and dark old house. It’s filled to bursting with nothing but dark magic, snide old portraits, and bad feelings. Remus hates it here, but it is the only place Sirius is safe, so Remus stays. Remus will always stay where Sirius is, bodily or mentally. He doesn’t have much of choice in the matter, and even if he did, not much would change.

Remus hears a bark-like laugh from down the hall and he smiles slightly at the sound. 

For months following the events in the Shrieking Shack, Remus had wondered about the effects Azkaban had had on Sirius, other than the obvious physical ones. He had wondered if Sirius even had a proper mind and any ability to form rational thoughts left at all beyond planning revenge schemes against Peter Pettigrew. Truth be told, Remus had feared Sirius, so much so that when a ragged and travel weary dog had appeared on his doorstep a year later, Remus had almost refused him before reason and logic had flooded his mind. 

A few weeks later, Sirius had admitted to the same thing. It hadn’t taken them long to realise that they simply didn’t know one another anymore. Twelve years apart and bad blood had almost completely ruined any sort of friendship they had once shared. And not just friendship. Any other kind of relationship they’d once shared had died after the First War. 

Remus had spent the months Sirius had been on the run worrying about that very issue. Apparently, Sirius had worried about the same thing, even considering the vast amount of other, more important things his mind should have been focused on. And, shockingly, he’d spent a great deal of his time in Azkaban musing over the same problem, wondering if Remus would ever be able to forgive him if he were ever to know the truth. He’d buried himself in their last days spent together. Like the fact of his innocence, they weren’t happy thoughts, so he’d been stuck with them. Remus hates that now.

They’d been cautious – still are – starting things out slowly, providing them both with room to breathe if they ever needed such a thing. Remus is determined they will not make the same mistakes as before. He tells Sirius everything, about every mission he is sent on, regardless of what Dumbledore says about secrecy. As much as Remus respects the elder wizard, he has always blamed the man for planting those first poisonous seeds of doubt with all his mandatory secrets and lies. Remus doesn’t think he can ever fully forgive the old man for all the pain and destruction it has caused, and he knows Sirius never will, either.

Remus rounds the corner and enters the first floor parlour. He pauses before the light of the fire has an opportunity to illuminate his figure and alert his presence to the people filling the room and takes a moment to watch the scene before him. The Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, and Sirius all sit in various places around the room. Sirius and Harry sit side by side upon the sofa, Sirius’ arm thrown casually across the boy’s thin shoulders and Harry’s face glows contentedly. Sirius’ bark-like laugh sounds again as he watches the twins’ ridiculous antics and it warms Remus heart to hear it. The man doesn’t do it often anymore, but the fact that he does tells Remus all he needs to know about his worries. Sirius is still human, despite all odds, and that’s all that really matters.

“Fred, George,” Molly says, finally glancing away from her husband and paying mind to her troublesome sons, “that’s enough of that for the night.” Remus watches the identical sour expressions flit across the twins’ faces as Molly’s eyes flicker to where he is standing in the shadows. “Remus, dear, I didn’t see you there. Come in and join us.”

Sirius’ gaze shifts as well and his smile shrinks, becomes softer, eyes lighting up as he catches sight of Remus. He moves forward slowly, seating himself on Sirius’ other side on the large sofa. Subtly, and only a bit timidly, Sirius’ hand moves down between their thighs and searches out Remus’ own, joining their fingers together gently. Everything disappears for Remus, if only for a moment, and he silently wonders how everyone else could have possibly missed the air sparking with lightning. And then Sirius relaxes beside him, squeezing Remus’ hand with the smallest amount of pressure, and Remus suddenly doesn’t care.

Minutes later, or what could have been hours – time never seems to pass right for Remus with Sirius so near – Molly stands from her chair and begins pushing the children towards the stairs and up to their beds. At her children’s moans of disappointment, her face twists into that of motherly superiority. “It’s much too late,” she chides. “We’ve a great deal of packing tomorrow. The sooner you fall asleep, the earlier you can wake.” The children groan, Ron’s the loudest of all.

“And _you_ ,” Molly says, rounding on Sirius just before she passes him by. “You should consider doing the same.” Sirius looks affronted, but Molly ignores him as she continues. “No one needs to hear you moving round the house all night long.” 

Sirius’ eyes harden as his mouth opens to reply to the woman’s biting comment, but Remus squeezes his hand firmly in warning and Sirius snaps his mouth closed, his lips straightening into a thin line as he glares at Molly. She stares back challengingly.

After a long moment, Arthur clears his throat behind his wife and Remus decides it’s time to interject before either Molly or Sirius burst into flames. “I’ll make sure he gets there, Molly,” he promises hastily. “You and Arthur head on to bed.”

Molly’s eyes move to Remus and her face softens. “Thank you, Remus,” she murmurs. “Sleep well, dear.” Arthur pushes his wife from the room quickly, sending Sirius an apologetic glance. 

The moment Molly is out of sight, a low growl emerges from deep within Sirius’ throat. “ _What_ is her problem with me?” he snaps out, his voice full of acid.

“You challenge her maternal instincts,” Remus replies levelly. Sirius stares at Remus, eyes shooting daggers, unamused. Remus fights back his smile. 

“Seriously, Remus,” Sirius says softly. “What did I do to her?”

Remus sighs, suddenly very, very weary. “I honestly don’t know, Sirius,” he says just as quietly. “Sometimes, I think it’s more of what you _might_ do, more than anything you’ve actually done.”

Sirius’ gaze shifts down to their joined hands. “Do you think I’m a bad influence on Harry?” he whispers shakily.

Remus is silent for a long while, studying Sirius’ face in the firelight, one half flickering reddish-orange while the other remains grey in shadow. It’s like looking at the two halves of Sirius’ life. One, the bright, energetic part, full of life and happiness. The other, pale and emotionless, haunted by memories that shouldn’t be there. It makes Remus incredibly sad.

“At times,” he finally answers and Sirius visibly droops. “Most times, though, I think you’re exactly what he needs. Someone he knows will be there whenever and for whatever he needs you for.”

Sirius slowly raises his gaze to meet Remus’, his eyes guarded and careful. “Really?” he asks hopefully, and Remus is shocked at how much like a wounded puppy he looks.

“Really,” Remus replies softly and Sirius’ mouth pulls up into the smallest of smiles. Remus snorts in amusement, standing and pulling on their clasped hands. “C’mon, you mutt. Let’s get upstairs before Molly comes down and flogs us both.”

Sirius nods distractedly, his eyes running up the length of their stretched arms. Suddenly, he grins and Remus is too confused to see it coming. Sirius tugs sharply on Remus’ hand, and Remus, concentrating more on what the gleam in Sirius’ eyes mean than his own balance, topples forward, landing with an _oof_ of sound on top of Sirius. Before Remus can say anything, Sirius’ lips are pushing against his insistently and Remus forgets what he would have said anyway.

Eventually, they part for breath. “I’ll go,” Sirius murmurs against Remus’ lips, his eyes sparkling, “but only if you promise we’ll do something other than sleep.”

Remus can’t help the smirk that quirks his mouth. “Don’t we always?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, pushing himself to his feet and pulling Sirius with him. They stumble up the stairs noisily, refusing to allow their lips to part for any amount of time. As they pass by Arthur’s and Molly’s room, Remus is briefly of the mind to hope the two are asleep, but as Sirius’ warm fingers trail beneath his shirt and along his waist, Remus quickly realises he doesn’t actually care. They manage to trip inside Sirius’ room and Remus kicks the door closed behind him with more force than is strictly necessary before the backs of Sirius’ knees encounter the side of the mattress and they collapse onto the bed.

There has always been something poignant about these moments they spend together. Hair brushing foreheads, sweat-slicked chests sliding together, legs entwined. Every muttered groan, whispered moan, and breathed word mingling together and creating the most natural encasement of warmth. Even in their dark days, when the war was testing strings of trust and sex became nothing but sex between them, both attempting to leave their emotions out of the equation, it had still been this way. Less powerful and more stilted, but completely breathtaking and awe-inspiring.

Remus settles back against the headboard and pulls Sirius to his chest, wrapping his arms around the man’s still too-thin waist, Sirius mirroring his actions. It’s become a nightly ritual for them, sitting in bed, cradled in one another’s arms. Sometimes they speak, but most times they simply watch the moon shift through the dark sky outside the window. Sirius doesn’t sleep at night anymore, so neither does Remus. Sirius had tried, when he’d first arrived at Remus’, but had soon given up when the nightmares became too much for him to handle. 

There’s a specific time every night that Sirius’ entire body tenses and his eyes darken. He says not a word – Remus assumes his teeth are gritted together too hard to form words – but Remus knows the man is suffering and an ache resonates deep within Remus’ chest. Sirius never explains and Remus doesn’t ask, but if he was ever to guess, his answer would be simple, and so very sad. He’d say it’s the worst point of any day within the walls of Azkaban, when the Dementors are most active and the screams most desolate. 

Sometimes, Remus will try and distract Sirius through these moments, though it never does any good. Most times, he simply pulls Sirius’ shaking body against his as tightly as he can and waits it out, wishing there was something, anything he could do, but knowing there isn’t. He’s helpless when it comes to this, they both are. There’s also times when Sirius loses his tightly held control and screams until his throat is raw and his voice has vanished. And Remus imagines that now, when Sirius screams, he is screaming with the other inhabitants of Azkaban.

The moon is at its highest point in the sky when Sirius turns his head up and scans Remus’ face intently. “You’re tired,” he says. “Go to sleep.”

“M’not,” murmurs Remus in response. This, too, has become a nightly occurrence, and one of the few things Remus still secretly savours.

Sirius’ eyes narrow slightly as he studies Remus intently. “When’s the last time you even had a decent amount of sleep?” 

“I could ask you the same,” Remus counters.

“Fair point.” One corner of Sirius’ lips quirk up in a barely there smile.

Sirius nudges his head beneath Remus’ chin and they settle back into silence. When the time comes, and Remus feels Sirius’ muscles begin to tense, he tightens his hold around the man and silently prays for the light of day.

\--------------------------------------

It’s like walking through life in a haze. The weight of the world crushing him down, and he doesn’t understand how he can still manage to breathe, let alone accomplish anything else.

Everyone tells him things will get better, become easier to deal with. He managed to pull through an even greater tragedy fifteen years ago; this should be nothing in comparison. But they don’t understand, any of them. Sirius was so much more to him than anyone ever knew. And if it wasn’t for the promise he’d made to protect his best friend’s son, Remus doesn’t think he would even have the will left to survive.

He still remembers it happening; sees the images flash behind his lids every time he closes his eyes. He dreams about that night every time he falls asleep and now he thinks he might partially understand Sirius’ nightmares. 

Harry’s screams deafen every other sound. The flashing lights blind him. He sees Bellatrix lean forward on her toes in anticipation. He watches Sirius’ graceful arc as he falls backwards. His eyes meet Remus’ for one small fraction of a second. And then, before Remus can do anything, _say_ anything, Sirius is gone. And it hurts.

It still hurts. It will always hurt, and Remus knows this. He can only imagine what Harry went through, is still going through. It had been all he could do to restrain the boy, to keep him from racing towards the veil that had already taken one-too-many lives that night. 

It’s been months and the pain hasn’t lessened. He’s learned how to handle it, stores it up in a nice little box in the back of his mind and keeps it tucked away until he’s alone, away from prying eyes and ears. It’s unbearable. Remus sees Sirius everywhere, in everything he does. The smallest thing reminds him of the man he lost. He sold their old flat, unable to bear the memories it contained. Walking into Grimmauld Place steals his breath, and it refuses to come back until he’s safely outside its walls. 

It’s all so utterly unfair that Remus can barely stand it. He hates to play such a game now after a lifetime of avoidance, but if not now, when? What was the point of it all, barely getting Sirius back only to lose him all over again, in the most absolute of ways? 

He’s slowly losing his sanity with every day that passes. He can feel it slipping away, little by little, minute by minute. Remus keeps a calm façade around everyone he encounters – they think he’s moved on, pushed past the pain – but inside he’s breaking to pieces and there’s not much help left for him. 

He’s not sure how much longer he can keep this up...

\--------------------------------------

Madness.

That’s the only word Remus has to describe the chaos that surrounds him at every turn. Colours flash, spells fly by every part of his body. It’s a miracle he hasn’t been hit yet. 

He rounds the corner of the castle and comes face to face with Dolohov. Remus’ wand is immediately raised to mirror Dolohov’s and the spells begin to fly, colours splashing the dark ground around their dancing feet. 

He’s doing well, he thinks, dodging every curse thrown his way. One moment of distraction, however, a scream that sounds far too closely, is the only opening required. As Remus’ eyes shift back to Dolohov, he is blinded by green. 

Remus doesn’t have time to close his eyes, but it doesn’t matter because no sooner does he have the thought to do so than his vision is filled with nothing but black. This isn’t the dark, empty abyss he had expected, however. It has definition; different hues. It moves.

Suddenly, the black changes to grey, then to the white of gleaming teeth set into a grinning mouth. Everything shifts and then Remus is staring at Sirius, looking younger than he has since they left Hogwarts. Sirius continues to beam at him and Remus can only gape.

Soon enough his mouth has other things to do, though, as Sirius’ arms wrap around his neck and the man kisses him. And Remus realises that nothing has changed, even though Sirius is dead -- _he_ is dead.

Sirius pulls back slightly and runs a gentle thumb along the line of Remus’ jaw. He smiles as Remus shivers at the touch, then steps back fully. “Come on, Moony,” he chirps, pulling at Remus’ hand before walking away. “We have important matters to attend to.”

Remus learned long ago that he would follow Sirius anywhere. It isn’t something for which he wants a choice.


End file.
